Night Rune (Prof Croft Book 8)

by Brad Magnarella

  A weak ball of light discharged from the opal end of my staff and illuminated the church’s interior. The space was narrow but deep. Ragged black drapes hung from rafters and skirted a floor whose pews and wooden planks had been removed, exposing layers of excavated earth. The air inside wasn’t as foul as it had been in the streets, but its staleness had a throat-gripping quality. The space was devoid of anyone, the whispers I’d heard seeming to have retreated into holes dug here and there.

  With another Word, I activated the banishment enchantment on my blade and picked my way forward.

  What kind of hellhole did you land us in, Bree-yark?

  The goblin’s grunts sounded from the far end of the church—only now they were returning. Moments later, he batted past the drapes. I noticed he wasn’t carrying Dropsy. When his squash-colored eyes met mine, they were huge.

  “There’s a freaking vampire in here!” he gasped.

  “Wonderful,” I muttered.

  That explained the big hole in the ground, not to mention the suffocating atmosphere: the church had been retrofitted into a giant tomb. Grandpa’s ring came to life, pulsing with power, meaning the bloodsucker in question was related to a signatory of the Brasov Pact between wizards and vampires.

  I aimed my fist with the ring around the room as I retreated toward the door. Bree-yark scrambled up the final level of excavation and was almost to me when the church door slammed shut. My ball of light shrank to a sputtering point. I pushed power into the invocation, but the air seemed to thicken around it. The best I could manage was a feeble glow that cast everything in brown shadows.

  “Door’s locked,” Bree-yark grunted, tugging on the handle.

  My wizard’s senses showed brambles of vampiric magic growing along the frame.

  “Fear not, travelers,” a sultry voice called in a vaguely Irish accent. “No harm will befall ye here.”

  Rustling sounded, and I turned to find the long drapes drawing apart. Across the church, a female vampire sat on the altar. She was middle-aged and lean, dark-red hair spilling over the shoulders of a black dress. The dress’s top was open to her pale sternum and girded bodice-tight above her waist before ending at her knees in a frilly hem. Laced up her shins were a pair of black boots. The thick heels kicked against the altar’s side like cudgels.

  “Indeed,” she continued, “ye’ll not find better sanctuary in the city.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” I said.

  The sealing magic over the door was weak. At my word, it fell apart.

  “Yer looking for someone,” the vampire called. “Perhaps Hellcat Maggie can help.”

  I’d pulled the door open, the pale sun like needles against my eyes, but what she said made me hesitate. When I looked back, a small army of children had emerged from the holes and taken up positions in the shadows around her. They were boys and girls, at least twenty of them, none older than ten. The youngest looked four. As I took in their small, pale faces, anger roared inside me.

  “Like you helped them?” I growled.

  “The orphans? Don’t be so hasty to judge dear Maggie. Each one was sick, starved, and broken. Harry here was ravaged by consumption. And I found little Fiona in a trash bin at night, being nibbled on by rats.” Bracelets jangled around Maggie’s wrists as she stroked the hair from a girl’s brow.

  “So you made them your slaves?”

  Maggie stopped kicking, her expression pinching around a pair of razor-thin lips. “I delivered them from death, traveler. And I made sure no one would hurt them again. Though a few fools have tried,” she added darkly.

  Unlike the urchins I’d seen in the street, these children were well dressed, their faces scrubbed and hair combed. The youngest girls wore ribbons. But the fact they were cared for didn’t change that this creature had made them her undead slaves, and not out of charity. She was using them to enrich herself, our stolen lantern being just one example.

  But even as I trained my ring on her, I reminded myself that I was witnessing an echo of a reality. Nothing I did here would change what had already happened. And the fact I’d never heard of Hellcat Maggie in the modern era suggested she’d met a violent end, whether by staking or burning. Her orphans would have all returned to mortality and ultimately passed too. I lowered my fist.

  “Either way, we’re leaving.”

  “Even if I can help shine a light on the one ye seek?” she called.

  She placed teasing emphasis on the word light, no doubt referring to Dropsy. As for the rest, I knew vampires too well. Maggie had sensed the emotions coming off me. Now, having interpreted them, she was determined to manipulate me into doing her bidding, possibly even offering her my potent blood.

  I snorted. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “So cynical. Maybe a show of good faith will change your stance. Liam?” she called sweetly. The boy Bree-yark had been chasing materialized at the front of the pack, the lantern dangling from his small hand.

  “Dropsy!” Bree-yark shouted. “Are you all right?”

  The lantern peered around before letting out two timid pulses.

  “Go on,” the vampire said to Liam. “Return what ye took.”

  I kept a close eye on the boy as he circled the excavation pit. When he arrived in front of Bree-yark, he extended Dropsy by her brass ring. Nostrils flaring, Bree-yark snatched her from his grip and backed away. The boy stared at him another moment before returning toward the altar.

  “Does that help?” Maggie asked.

  It suddenly occurred to me that she’d never meant to keep Dropsy. She’d had the boy steal the lantern to lead us here, to her domain. She smiled, lips breaking from teeth that had been filed to points to match her canines.

  “Nothing gets past ye, eh, traveler?” she said. “I hope you’ll forgive a smidge of trickery. I didn’t know how else to bring ye into my company, short of force. And then you’d really be doubting dear Maggie.”

  “Let’s go,” Bree-yark muttered.

  I waved for him to lead so I could cover our exit with the ring.

  “Ye seek another traveler,” Maggie called sharply. “One who walks through time.”

  I’d thought she was bluffing earlier, but that was too damned specific. I paused, my gaze ranging over the children. Twenty here, and who knew how many in the streets. That was a lot of eyes and ears, even in a city of eight hundred thousand. Had Maggie seen something? Heard something? One of the Upholders, maybe?

  “Yes, I know of this person,” she said. “I might even be convinced to arrange a meeting.”

  Negotiating with a vampire was never a good idea, especially when the vampire in question believed she had something you wanted. But what if one or all of the Upholders had stumbled into this period? For their sakes, I had to at least weigh the offer.

  “In exchange for what?” I asked.

  Maggie pushed herself from the altar so she was standing. “A favor.”

  “Everson…” Bree-yark said in his warning voice.

  “I won’t make any promises, but let’s hear it.”

  A creak sounded as she limped forward. For the first time I realized the vampire’s left leg was a wooden prosthesis, the knee flexing and extending on a metal joint. Maggie caressed her children’s heads as she waded to the fore. “A man named Phineas T. Barnum has something that belongs to me.”

  “The circus guy?” Bree-yark asked.

  “He runs a museum on Broadway and Ann Street,” Maggie continued.

  A very specific image fired in my memory. “Barnum’s American Museum,” I said.

  “That’s right. The artifact in question is a silver locket he keeps in his office. I would like it back.”

  “Then why not get it yourself?” I asked.

  “Because the locket is warded. But methinks that won’t be a problem for ye.” When her eyes glinted, I understood the locking curse on the church door had been intended less to detain than to test me.

  “So you want me to steal back something he stole from
you?”

  “He bought it from the one who stole it,” she said, impatience creeping into her voice. “But all that matters is it belongs to me.”

  “And in exchange, you’ll arrange for me to meet this traveler?”

  “A straight up swap, no trouble or trickery. Maggie’s word.” She made the sign of the cross on her chest, but in reverse, I noticed.

  “Can you give me a description of the traveler?”

  “As I said, one like ye.”

  Typical vampire response, calculated to keep me interested. But though she affected a coy expression, something in her voice and stance told me she needed this artifact, hungered for it. Arranging the promised meeting in order to possess it was a cheap price as far as she was concerned.

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  In a burst of electric energy, the vampiric deal took hold. The earnestness of the bonding suggested I’d been right.

  “Do I bring the locket here?” I asked.

  “When ye have it, one of the orphans will find ye.”

  With a tight-lipped smile, Hellcat Maggie retreated back into her blood slaves—another tell. With the destructive power I wielded on my fist, she knew she’d risked enough by bringing me here. Having gotten what she wanted, she was back to survival mode. She fluttered the talons of a hand in playful farewell, while her children stared at us from what was clearly a defensive formation.

  Outside the church, Bree-yark hugged Dropsy tightly to his chest. “You’re really planning on doing this?”

  “It could lead to an Upholder,” I said, “but I also want to check out the museum.”

  “What for?”

  “I don’t know where my grandfather lived in the 1860s—his old farm would be under the West Twenties by now. But I do happen to know he worked for one P.T. Barnum as a stage magician. I’d like to find him.”

  22

  About a week following Grandpa’s death, I’d found the poster in the back of his closet. It had been rolled up and bound with old string that fell apart when I pulled on it. Expecting another map, because it had been leaning among several, I was surprised to discover a vintage promotional poster.

  ASMUS THE GREAT!

  MASTER MAGICIAN!

  The magician in question was a tuxedo-clad man with rosy cheeks, hand inside a top hat. Given the name, and the drawing’s resemblance to a younger version of my grandfather, I assumed this was his grandfather. That was years before I would learn Grandpa had been a centuries-old magic-user.

  Splashed across the poster’s bottom:

  BARNUM’S AMERICAN MUSEUM

  NEW YORK CITY

  “You recovered her,” Caroline observed when we returned to Five Points.

  “Not without a little negotiating,” Bree-yark said, stowing Dropsy in his pouch and sliding me a dubious look.

  I filled Caroline in on our meeting with Hellcat Maggie, finishing with our agreement. “My grandfather was a powerful magic-user. If he’s at Barnum’s, he could be an asset like he was the last time.”

  That said, I wasn’t relishing the idea of having to prove who I was to him all over again. I’d succeeded with the 1776 version, but we were in a different period now. This Grandpa would have no knowledge of the other encounter.

  “Worst case,” I said, “he’s not there, and we recover the locket. Then Maggie sets up a meeting with this ‘traveler,’ who could be an Upholder.”

  “If we can trust her,” Bree-yark added.

  Caroline’s eyes diffused, and I felt her studying the vampiric agreement that obligated me. I took the opportunity to push power into the druidic symbol on my hand. Still no connection with the other Upholders, though.

  “She’ll keep her word,” Caroline decided. “But we shouldn’t spend too much time here. I’ve been examining the bonds holding this time catch together, and they aren’t particularly strong. They could begin to unravel at any moment.”

  “The museum’s nearby,” I said. “Broadway and Ann.”

  We set out at a fast walk. Within a couple blocks, the buildings along the street sturdied and straightened, flower boxes appearing in windows. The Broadway that opened out ahead was a much different street than its 1776 counterpart. Paved now and enclosed by crowds of tall buildings, it also conducted multiple times the traffic. Horse-drawn carts and buses clattered up and down the thoroughfare while streams of people crossed back and forth and poured around shouting sidewalk vendors. As we rounded the corner, Bree-yark flinched from several paperboys cawing the latest headlines.

  “Kind of loud,” he grumbled.

  I slowed to check the date on one of the papers: October 13, 1861. Caroline had been really damned close. All around us, men wore vintage business suits and hats, many of them stovepipes like Abe Lincoln’s, while the women’s elaborate dresses spoke to a higher society than the neighborhood we’d left. I noticed Caroline had subtly altered our glamours to appear more middle class.

  Walking south along the sidewalk, we passed the former sugar house where a Stranger had held Seay’s friends captive and soon came upon the recently completed City Hall, an undeveloped park when I’d passed it in 1776. The ley energy was disorganized in this time catch too, but with each block south it seemed to be gathering strength. A plus if I needed to cast. At the southern end of City Hall Park, we stopped at a busy road.

  “There it is,” Caroline said.

  Opposite us, on the corner of Ann Street, stood an enormous five-story building. Constructed at angles to conform to the wide corner, the white-washed edifice looked like the entrance to a baseball stadium. A line of world flags flapped from the building’s top like pennants, a large American flag presiding over them. And painted above the windows on the third floor in giant circus font:

  BARNUM’S AMERICAN MUSEUM

  “C’mon,” I said.

  We hustled across the street, dodging carriages, and joined the back of a line. Placards shouted the admission fee—“Only 25 Cents!”—while posters glued to the wall announced the museum’s various draws, from freakish acts to exotic animals to a brand new mystery attraction guaranteed to “Astonish and Horrify!”

  I searched for Asmus the Great posters, but couldn’t see any.

  On an outdoor balcony right above us, a brass band struck up a lively tune, pulling in people from across the street to watch and listen. The clash of noises was clearly irritating Bree-yark’s sensitive ears, but he gave a grudging nod.

  “Man knows how to sell tickets,” he muttered.

  At the front of the line, I exchanged a glamoured one-dollar coin for four museum tickets, and we were ushered into a massive entrance hall full of people, their faces glowing with anticipation. Signs pointed to a grand staircase, the conveyance to the main attractions. We moved off to one side to get our bearings. From what I could gather, exhibits were on the second and third floors, while a performance hall occupied the fourth, shows on the half hour. An usher called out that the next would begin in ten minutes.

  “Barnum’s office is in back,” Caroline said, nodding past the staircase. “To save time, I can take Arnaud and check it out if you and Bree-yark want to search the upper floors for your grandfather.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “Just be careful. The locket is warded.”

  Caroline flashed a smile. “I’ll only be looking, not touching.”

  As Bree-yark and I took the stairs up, I watched her over the polished balustrade. She had glamoured the demon-vampire to look like a feeble man who needed escorting. Thanks to his restraints, that’s about what he’d become. But he was still Arnaud Thorne, which meant dangerous. I’d promised Vega I wouldn’t forget that.

  “Something going on with you two?” Bree-yark asked.

  I snapped my head around. “Huh?”

  “The looks she keeps giving you.”

  “Who, Caroline? What looks?”

  “You know, the sparkly-eyed kind.”

  “Not possible. She bargained away her feelings for me two years ago.”


  Bree-yark grunted skeptically. “Did someone bother telling her feelings that?”

  I had noticed the looks, of course, but it disturbed me that Bree-yark had as well.

  “Look, nothing’s going on,” I said testily. “She’s married, and I’m with Vega.”

  “Yeah, well, in case you haven’t noticed, things aren’t going so well with Mr. Fae Prince. He’s hunting her with giant birds.”

  “Which is exactly why she’s here. To put everything right with her kingdom.”

  “I still don’t trust her.”

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do about that,” I muttered, not wanting to rehash the debate.

  We arrived on the second floor to find display cases stretched end to end. As we made our way to another staircase across the room, I glanced around. The objects ranged from the interesting—a display of wooden tribal masks—to the absurd—a cat-powered weaving loom. I also kept a close eye on Bree-yark. There was no telling what he might find objectionable, and he had a bad habit of settling things with his fists.

  We bypassed the third floor, where signs pointed the way to live animal enclosures, including an albino tiger and a monkey with two heads, and continued to the fourth.

  Visitors were already lined up in front of “The Theater of the Otherworldly” for the four o’clock show. From inside came screams and rapturous applause. A door opened shortly to release the audience, all of them talking at once. I grabbed the arm of a young man in suspenders and a tweed flat cap who looked like he’d come from the Five Points neighborhood we’d just left.

  “Is a magician a part of the show?”

  “Aye! And a dead flash one at that!”

  “Flash?” Bree-yark grunted.

  By the man’s animated eyes, I took that as slang for something good.

  “Was his name Asmus the Great?” I asked.

  “Didn’t catch the name,” he said, “but there weren’t nothing hugger-mugger about ’im. No, siree. But wait till you catch the last act. Ooh-hoo! Best fist yer eyes so they don’t pop from yer skull. Though yer lad there’s liable to kak himself.”